Thursday, 30 June 2011

Tattooed on a criminal's arm

I asked my home CPN to see me but it's not till next week
I don't feel depressed as such
But I have lots of these suicidal fantasies
Especially drowning
I've become completely fixated on the idea of it
Everything feels strange
Looks strange
The world isn't right
Reality is all wrong
I know the sensations of bugs aren't real
I do know that
And that the white noise and black dust isn't real either
But it's still hard to get past the fear of it
And the dissociation is awful
All I can do to get back in touch is burn or cut
I should go to rape crisis tomorrow
I don't know if I should
I've missed one week already
It's just a big blur
I get scared and feel sick and get flashes of moments but that's it
Then I get awful flashbacks of things that I don't think really happened
I don't know what to do
I don't know how to speak out about it
I don't think anyone would listen anyway

Sunday, 26 June 2011

Fold your hands child, you walk like a peasant

I'm sorry I've not been around
My laptop is broken and I lost my phone

Things are...

I'm thinking about suicide a lot
But in this really fucked up romantic way
The idea of going to a lake and walking in with a pocket full of stones
Or drinking tea and cyandine
I'm not interested in overdosing or jumping off a bridge of slitting my wrists
It's like I'm stuck in a time loop
I don't think I belong to this time

I have no idea where my nightmares end
Where the edges of my body end
I feel like I live in a different dimension
Where time moves differently
Where millions and millions of ghosts move about in the empty air
There are insects under my skin
I try to burn and bleed them out
But they're still crawling
I've convinced myself that the flashbacks aren't flashbacks but some kind of hallucination
Therefore it doesn't matter because it's not real
I don't feel real
I feel like I don't really exist
I'm just in a film
Or a dream and I will wake up any minute and it will all be over
I feel so out of touch with everything
Things are too bright or dull
Too big or too small
It's like living in fucking Wonderland
And I have most definately lost my muchness

Saturday, 18 June 2011

I'll fight like Hell to hide that I've given up

I'm obbsessed with the idea of drowning myself. It seems so perfect. The world doesn't look right. My body doesn't feel right. Subtle changes. Corner of the eye stuff. Noise and voices at detuned low level. It's hardly anything but it bothers me. Scares me. My head and body is full of memories and violent ideas of revenge. I don't know what to do. I go to Germany tomorrow. I have plans I'm not prepared to put aside but the strain of keeping going and acting well is getting on top of me. But mostly I just feel like a lying, attention seeking fuckwit.

I fight like Hell and I end up back at the begining, or worse, why bother?

So. Germany. Bright Eyes in Berlin and Cologne. It's already breaking my heart that this is the last.ever.tour. I have these two dates and London and then Birmingham, Gateshead, Leeds and Manchester in July.

As is and unmotivated and on the edge of sanity I feel. I HAVE TO DO THIS. I have to go. I will regret it for the rest of my life if I give in and let it beat me. This is why I go to so many gigs. To just keep going. Right now it's so fucking hard. That's what it's like. The things that mean the entire fucking universe to you make you tired and anxious and out of touch. That's how it works.

I'm becoming incoherent. My thinking is all stitled. I can't think fluidly. Stop start stop start. But I'm going to Germany. That's it.

Thursday, 16 June 2011

Mais les yeux sont aveugles. Il faut chercher avec le cœur

A girl who I was close friends with at EDU and who I've kept in touch with since is back in hospital. Along with my flatmate. And another girl I was IP with. I think it's all finally got on top of me.

I'm medically obese. It's a fact. I eat a lot. I enjoy food. I pig out. I try and kid myself that I'm okay about all of this but I'm really, really not. I hate the lack of control and will-power I have now. I miss being the skinny one. The one that didn't eat. I miss all the anorexic thoughts that used to keep me company. That used to matter more than anything else in the world.

If people look at me now there is no way they would ever be able to guess that I used to be anorexic. I imagine them thinking that I've always been this fat. That I am greedy and lazy. They don't see me as anything else.

I want to go on a diet and stick to it. I want to add up the calories and take away the exercise. Most of all I just want to be normal. A normal healthy weight. To look okay in clothes. To not have bags and bags of clothes that no longer fit.

I feel like I'm just growing and growing and growing and everything is spinning around and losing control and my weight is something that needs IMMEDIATE ACTION because if I don't do it than I'm going to be fat forever. But being fat makes me feel safe. Eating makes me feel safe. I know that I am ugly like this. That no-one would ever want to touch me. I crave that feeling and I crave the food and I crave the comfort in the same way I used to crave emptiness and thinness.

I don't know where I'm at but it feels like fucking Hell right now.

Colour my life with the chaos of trouble

So I saw my CPN yesterday
It was a good session
I'm starting to like her a lot more
But she said she had no idea what my 'absenses' were about
Because she's never heard of it before
And said that I should go and get tested for epilepsy
I already have been ages ago and I was fine
I don't think she understands dissociation very well
I can't see another psychiatrist because she said that they're all men and that he is the 'easiest to talk to'
I rolled my eyes a bit and she said 'I know' so atleast I know that it's not just me
Things are still really bad
I have no interest at all in stopping self-harming
I don't give a shit about that right now
I had to go to the nurse to get my stitches out
I'd lost or picked out a lot of them and she asked me how many there were orginally
I told her xx
She said oh my god in a ridiculously dramatic way
As if she'd never heard of such a thing before
At the same time I had an hour fresh burn on my wrist
That she never even asked about
Either my self-harm is serious
Or not
Every time I have ever had stitches out
I've wanted to seriously fuck myself up straight after
The memories and numbness and images keep overwhelming me
I'm getting scared of the dark again
I don't know what to do
I don't think I'm very good at explaining myself
Or something...

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Was she scared? Was she bored?

It all got too much the other night. The flashbacks and memories and thoughts are so bad, the panic and paranoia of everyone, even my best friend became a threat. I was 100% convinced that he would hurt me. I feel fucking awful about it. I don't deserve friends when I am like this. I just hurt them. I was so dissociated, the flat looked like a crime scene, my flatmate and best friend had to take me to A&E. I spent the night on a drip and left with 53 stitches. I can't even remember it. It didn't hurt. I just can't connect.

I saw a couple of psych nurses, tried sohard to explain everything, but it's like they don't listen or don't understand or maybe I'm just crap at explaining. They phoned my CPN who's going to see me next week, they said I had another psych appointment next month with that fuck awful one I saw the other week. I couldn't ask for a new one, I don't even know how, I just feel deflated.

I'm going to Download at the weekedand I'm not excited about it, I have a lot of gigs and travel booked up but a part of e just wants to fuck it all and completely fall apart. I feel awful but I don't feel bad about SI'ing. I just feen numb and dissociated and sick. I don't know...

Saturday, 4 June 2011

Do something pretty while you can

On a beech tree, rudely carved
"NC loved me"
Why did she do it?
Was she scared?
Was she bored?

On a beech tree, rudely carved
"NC loved me"
why did she do it?
Was she scared?
Was she pushed?

Do something pretty while you can
Don't fall asleep
Skating a pirouette on ice is cool

Do something pretty while you can
Don't be a fool
Reading the Gospel to yourself is fine

On a bus stop in the town
"We Rule The School"
Written for anyone to read and to see

On a bus stop in the town
"We Rule The School"
Written for anyone with eyes in their heads

Do something pretty while you can
Don't fall asleep
Writing from California to New York

Call me a prophet if you want
It's no secret

You know the world was made for men
You know the world was made for men
You know the world was made for men
Not us

- 'We Rule The School' by Belle and Sebastian

I am still not over hearing that song live the other night. Stuart Murdoch stole my heart with those three minutes.

Some of the time I feel okay and then I crash completely and end up shaking and crying locked away on my own for hours. I tried to go out with my flatmates and couldn't stick it out so ended up walking all the way back through town on my own sobbing.

I'm scared of trying to reach out because in my head all I can hear is you're weak and stupid and should just bloody get on with it.

I'm so desperately fighting to be okay, to stay well, but it's like it's not enough. Willpower and plans and fighting isn't enough. What is? What do I have to do to make it stop? Why is it that my life and mental health fall apart just as I've got it back together.

I am tired of fighting and not getting anywhere...

Thursday, 2 June 2011

When everything feels like the movies

I'm terrified
This afternoon I dissociated in the middle of town and walked out in front of a bus
I have no idea what I was doing or where I was for over an hour
Obviously, I'm okay (well, you know what I mean...)
The driver went fucking mental at me
Loads of kids around
They thought I was pissed or on drugs

I rang my CPN this morning and got no response
I'm guessing she's on annual leave
There is no way in Hell I am contacting that psychiatrist

I am so scared for my safety
Not because I'm suicidal or want to hurt myself
Just because

I do dissociate a lot
But it's mainly a drealisation thing
I am aware of what I'm doing and what's going on
It just doesn't feel real
Or I think I'm on a film loop
Or a bit of body feels wrong or missing
It's not very nice but it's not dangerous
And I never lose a significant amount of time
And slapping or pinching or biting myself usually bring me back

But this
I can't cope with this
I WANT to get the fuck on with my life
I have stuff I NEED TO DO
I am fighting and fighting and yet
It just finds another way to kick me the balls

This is all so hard to explain
I don't even understand it

Wednesday, 1 June 2011

J'ai demandé à la lune

I wrote commented on someone’s blog last night something that still makes me feel sick, something that I’ve been too ashamed to tell anyone. When I was raped I was wearing one of those goth shop tops with the dark fairy prints and bitch and fuck and slut and stuff written all over it. Admitting it to someone after all these years has just made me feel a million times worse.
I should blame myself for what happened.

It was my fault.

Every day is a contant battle between fighting and giving up.

I feel so fucking awful.